


A Night in Jail

by wonderlandiscrumbling



Series: Toxic Punk Boys [5]
Category: Fright Night (2011), Laws of Attraction (2004)
Genre: Bar fights, First Time Meeting, Getting Arrested, Kissing, M/M, Mentions of Blood, alocholism, drunk messes, mentions of bar fights
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:49:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23371219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wonderlandiscrumbling/pseuds/wonderlandiscrumbling
Summary: Peter's memory of getting arrested for fighting in a bar wasn't completely clear, but what was clear was the attractive equally drunken punk thrown into the holding cell with him.
Relationships: Thorne Jamison/Peter Vincent
Series: Toxic Punk Boys [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1664806
Comments: 13
Kudos: 21





	A Night in Jail

It had started when Peter had been hanging out in a bar after his show had ended for the night. He was doing his typical ritual of chatting up women who stared at him like everything he said and did was the best thing ever, it had been a perfect night. That was until some guy a few inches taller than himself and much broader in build had approached him, beer in hand, and shit eating grin already on his face as he sized him up.

“I don’t get how you get all this attention.” The guy commented, his accent screamed local, and his attitude screamed deep insecurities. 

The women that Peter was with eyed him curiously, the blond to his right beginning to move away more interested in the quarterback looking bastard who interrupted their conversation, not that Peter had been interested in hearing about how med school was going for her.

“It’s because I’m fucking famous if you haven’t noticed.” He retorted, rolling his eyes at the man.

“Right, famous being a fucking discount Criss Angel, like that’s a real fucking accomplishment.” 

Peter pushed away from the bar stepping up to the man until they were toe to toe, he leaned up in an attempt to make himself appear just the slightest bit taller than him, the man sized him up and laughed. It was admittedly difficult to come across as tough when he was still wearing the makeup from his show earlier.

“Say that again,” he bit out.

“Discount Criss Angel, not even half as talented even.”

Peter wanted to say it was because he was twelve drinks in already, but really it came down more so to a bruised ego that caused him to haul off and punch the man in the jaw nearly knocking him on his ass. Too bad for Peter he only caught him by surprise, the hit he landed barely hurting the large bastard, he righted himself, anger gleaming in his brown eyes as he swung at Peter’s head nearly connecting if he hadn’t ducked in time sending the man tumbling forward, Peter charged him, headbutting him right in the stomach knocking him back. From there it became a bit of a blur, he’d knocked him to the ground, straddled his stomach, kept punching at his face until his knuckles were bruised and bleeding, only stopped when the man beneath him landed one good punch in the mouth sending him reeling flat on his back, he’d blacked out for a minute there. Only coming to when a cop was dragging him to his feet, handcuffing his hands behind his back, hand on the back of his neck as he led him out of the crowded bar and out to a waiting patrol car. Peter’s jaw ached, he tasted blood, and was quite sure he lost a tooth back there. He didn’t put up a fight when they shoved him into the back of the car, just leaned his throbbing head back against the seat, listened to the staticky noise of the radio in the car as the arresting officer let the woman on the other end know he was bringing in another drunk. Peter groaned, ran his tongue over his teeth, one near the front felt a bit loose, but none missing. He winced as he swallowed, his saliva mixed with blood and booze, he gagged nearly vomiting at the taste.

He'd passed out again only waking when the car came to a stop and he was dragged into the police station. He knew the routine already; it wasn’t like this was the first time he’d been arrested in Vegas alone, he recognized a few of the cops, winked at one that he’d shagged a few weeks back who was pretending he didn’t notice him. The cuffs were removed and Peter was pushed into the holding cell; his only cellmate being a man in his sixties passed out on the floor, Peter only knew he was passed out and not dead when he nudged him with his foot earning a swat from the prone figure. After that he took a seat on the bench next to the metal toilet that smelled as if it hadn’t been cleaned in months, looked twice as bad really. He wondered if they’d just let him go in the morning, if the dick from the bar would press charges for assault, or if he’d have to go through with calling his lawyer for this. 

“Fuck you, you can’t fucking arrest me, you know who the fuck I am?” A heavily accented voice echoed through the station.

Peter perked up at the sound, watching as two cops dragged a man smaller than them kicking and screaming through the building and towards the holding cell. The man was short and skinny, his hair dark and spiked out, makeup smeared around his eyes, blood that was mostly dried coated his nose and ran down over his mouth, the front of his ripped white t-shirt soaked through with it. His clothes reminded Peter of Sid Vicious, that gutter punk look that had been so popular in 1970s England. He couldn’t help but smile as he watched the guy thrashing around like a small dog throwing a fit, kicking his leather boot clad feet against the bars of the cell resisting until finally they managed to uncuff him and throw him to the ground inside the cell. Before he could get to his feet and rush out, they’d closed and locked the door, that didn’t seem to stop his tantrum though.

“I’m fucking Thorne Jamison and I swear like fucking Hell I will sue you stupid fucks!” He screamed as he shook the bars, hands wrapped tightly around the iron, his knuckles busted and bleeding a lot like Peter’s. He continued on like that until his voice went hoarse, when he realized nobody gave two fucks who he was or how much money he had. He gave one more defeated kick to the bars and turned around. 

“How’d that work out for you?” Peter asked smirking up at him.

The man, Thorne glared at him, flipped him off. “My manager will take care of it, just need to get my one phone call.” He muttered mostly to himself. He glared down at the dirty floor then looked back up at Peter eyeing him. “Why are you here?” He finally asked, voice less angry now.

“Probably ‘bout the same reason you’re in here, Thorne is it? What sort of name is that?”

Thorne smirked, pushed away from the bars and approached him. “Shit name I know, parents named me that believe it or not. You look pretty rough.” He said reaching out taking hold of Peter’s chin to tilt his head back to get a better look at his bruised face. 

“Say the same to you, is all that blood yours?” He asked, not bothering to pull away from his touch. 

Thorne hummed, stroked his thumb across the blooming bruise on his jaw before releasing his chin and taking a seat next to him on the bench. “Even split I think, I did stab a guy with a broken bottle, not my fault.” He weakly defended himself, the grin on his face made it difficult to believe he didn’t instigate the fight. “So, what did you do?”

“Some asshole called me discount Criss Angel, so I kicked his ass.”

Thorne laughed, “that’s perfect, if you ask me though you look way fucking hotter than him.” He complimented as he placed a hand on Peter’s thigh.

Most normal people would probably not enjoy having a man with blood on him coming onto them in a holding cell, but Peter wasn’t exactly normal by any standards. Thorne seemed to be in the same boat as himself, a privileged dick with bad anger issues and a possible drinking problem if the whiskey he could smell on his breath was anything to go by. His previous rush to be released seemed to disappear suddenly, though his want for privacy was increasing with the way Thorne kept looking him over like he was trying to picture what he might look like naked. Peter placed a hand against the back of his neck, pulling him in closer, Thorne smirked, eyes slipping closed as he closed the distance pressing his lips to his, tongue pressing into his mouth. The kiss was drunken and just the slightest bit painful, his jaw ached, and Thorne’s mouth tasted about as bad as he knew his own did, but it was still a great kiss considering the circumstances.

“Jamison, your manager is here.” An officer announced as he unlocked the cell door.

Thorne pulled back, leaned back in nipping his lip before getting up from the bench and making his way to the door. “I’m Peter by the way, Peter Vincent.” He called out after him before he left.

“I know, seen your show the other night after my own. I’ll see you around, yeah?” With that he was gone.

It was probably the first time Peter hadn’t hated being arrested.


End file.
